


Turn A Blind Eye

by mystery_deer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, ELIAS TALKS IN ALL CAPS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin working through things, Martin's a people pleaser who can't please anyone (least of all himself), Peter's relationship to Martin is nebulous and sometimes Peter is just literally Martin's depression, a lot of archive staff appear but not in noteworthy ways so they're not tagged, a lot of confusion and metaphor, as happy as you might expect from tma, because he's an asshole, every Martin I ever write has 'mother issues' just written in sharpie on his forehead, one day I want to write a fic completely about elias and peter bc ooh boy that's a spicy dysfunction, typically tone deaf Jon but he's trying, very symbolic dreams, which is ... cautious optimism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_deer/pseuds/mystery_deer
Summary: Martin Blackwood has one long dream.Then he wakes up.
Relationships: (implied) Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	Turn A Blind Eye

Martin dreamt of Jon sometimes.  
And the dreams were usually welcome as a relief from the worms and the glaring mother eyes and the nonsense nothing ones where everything was unrecognizable except for Tim. And then that was unrecognizable too.

Martin dreamt of Jon drowning.  
He was watching, standing with everyone on the shore as Jon flailed and sputtered and cried out for help.

“Stop swimming.” Basira said, face buried in a blank book.  
“Stop fighting.” Daisy murmured, lying at her feet.  
Tim said something too jumbled to parse and no one turned to look at him. 

Jon gasped and coughed as water filled his lungs and tried to wheeze out a name before desperately sinking.

Martin finally ran towards the water when an arm shot out and pulled him back.  
“He’ll take you down with him.” Melanie warned, eyes clear mirrors reflecting back his terrified and furious expression.

He shook himself loose. “I won’t let him.”

He ran past the shoreline where Georgie sat up to her waist in water, singing something in a long dead language. She smelled of dusty roses and his mother’s perfume and her voice was a chorus of three. Her, Tim and Sasha. 

A fourth voice was emerging.  
He wouldn’t let it.

He dove into the water’s depths just as Jon’s hand sunk below the surface.

Suddenly they were deep under. So deep he could barely see but somehow Jon was clear as day to him. The only bright thing amongst the darkness.

Peter’s voice was here, telling him that he could save the world.  
How?  
How the fuck could he _save the world_ when he couldn’t even save _one_ person he cared about?

When he couldn’t recognize the wrongness of Sasha’s laugh or identify Tim’s mangled body?  
How could he save the world when he couldn’t even save _this?_

And what was ‘this?’ asked Peter’s barely-there voice. Not even solid enough to quote or differentiate it from thought.  
What is that elusive ‘this’ you have between you? You know if the archivist saw how much pain you were in I bet he’d love you. You’re so deliciously sad Martin. A feast for the eyes as they say, haha.

AND WE WILL FEAST.

Jon’s eyes shot open and Martin was so close now, reaching out an arm towards him and begging for him to please please please please _fucking take it Jon!_

Jon’s eyes roamed, hungry. Searching.

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

His mouth opened.

“Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding a series of…  
HMMM WELL, IF YOU’LL PARDON THE PUN  
WET dreams.”  
Said Elias’s voice leading Jon’s. 

A familiar click of the tape.

It wasn’t fair, he thought.  
Melanie could gouge her eyes out and run off with her girlfriend while they both told him “No no no Martin.” Like a child with his hand in the cookie jar.   
“No no no Martin, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

No more than he had already.  
No more than he always did.

“He wants you to hurt yourself. Don’t you see? He’s loving it.” They said, vanishing as Peter emerged from the lonely.  
“And maybe one day him loving all your pain will give way to him loving you, just a little bit. Just enough to live on.”

SOME PEOPLE JUST WANT TO SEE YOU DROWN  
SOME PEOPLE JUST WANT TO SEE SOME PEOPLE JUST WANT TO SEE SOME  
THING.  
ANYTHING, MARTIN.  
ANY DAY NOW, MARTIN.  
LETMESEELETMESEELETMESEELETMESEELETMESEELETMESEELETMESEE  
I’M S  
T  
A  
R  
V  
I  
N  
G !

And wouldn’t it be selfish of you to start looking out for number one now?  
Hasn’t number one always been someone else?

“Isn’t that what love is?” He’d asked a highschool boyfriend.  
“You make someone your number one and they make you theirs? You become...each other’s firsts?” He’d wailed into his pillow that night.

Peter wrapped his not-there arms around him and Martin felt the ache as he listened to song after song about love and heartbreak and dump that piece of shit and I love you I love you I love you no matter what you do to me because

That’s what love is?  
Something that can prevail over anything (you do to me).

“Isn’t that what love is?” He’d cried to his mother, young enough to grab hold of her leg.   
“Don’t you love me more than anyone?” And she’d told him he was clingy. 

“Go wash your face, Martin of course I love y-”  
DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT SHE REALLY THINKS OF  
“-some people don’t want you to help them they just want to drag you down with the-”  
DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HE REALLY THINKS OF

Peter told Martin that Elias loved him like crops love the rain.  
“They don’t.” And that was the joke.

Peter told Martin that The Eye loved The Lonely like ice loves the melting sun.  
Peter told Martin that Elias loved the mystery of Peter’s nothingness and hated it all at once.

“He’s like a kid on Christmas. Staring at the box and wanting to tear it open.” He’d told him, fading in and out.

“But he knows that what he imagines could be in it is better than whatever's actually there. It's easier to love all the thousands of toys that _could_ be concealed inside than whatever's actually there. The wait kills him and the not knowing kills him but he doesn’t want that final death - not yet.” He laughed.

“Well, it’d be my death really.”   
Love was holding two loaded guns to each other’s temples and knowing that the other wouldn’t shoot.

Yet.

Love was tolerating a face that haunted you.  
Love was helping despite the hurt it caused you.

Love was enough money to go wherever you wanted even though you didn’t want to go anywhere but straight to her straight to her uncaring arms that only tucked you in at night because they were obligated to.

Love was knowing everything about someone.   
Love was letting someone eat you up inside to fill their stomach.  
With a smile this time.  
This time they’ll stay.  
This time this time this time this time this time.

When you grow up lonely any interest is love.  
\- Peter Lukas? Martin Blackwood?

When you grow up starving you’ll be grateful for even rotten fruit.  
\- Peter Lukas? Martin Blackwood?

“Turn a blind eye to the red flags and warning signs and keep on driving, that’s what I always say.” Said Peter, chin resting in the crook of Martin’s neck.

“Keep on driving and hope that one day that blind eye turns back on you.” Said many echoing Martins to himself.

When he drew his mother a card she didn’t look at it but she hung it on the fridge.  
When he kissed his highschool boyfriend he didn’t smile but he kissed him back.  
When he gave Jon a mug of tea he didn’t thank him but he drank it.

_“IS THAT NOT LOVE, MELANIE!?”_ He screamed, shaking her until her sunglasses flew off and cracked on the pavement.

_“IF THAT’S NOT LOVE I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS! I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS! I DON’T KNOW HOW-”_  
“Then figure it out.” She said.

“Look at what I’ve done. I’ve got past all this anger!” And the world exploded into violence and red hot rage.  
“I once thought I couldn’t hold a heart without smashing it, without tearing it to bits for fear of being weak. But look at me now.” And she was Daisy now, being dragged backwards by Basira who was weeping for her dearly departed.

Why could Basira dance with The Hunt and Georgie hold still The Slaughter but he couldn’t even look into The Eye?

How could he save the world when-?

Martin?  
Martin?

He was in the ocean again. With Jon staring up past him.

Martin?  
Martin?

“...Jon?” His eyes snapped to him, hand reaching out.

Martin?  
Martin?

Martin’s hand slowly extended until they were just barely touching, fingertips gently pressed against each other.

With a sudden burst of energy Jon launched himself forward and held Martin close, their hands intertwined.

“I see you.” Filled the water and the ‘this’ grew so bright he had to close his eyes against it.  
But he could still feel Jon’s on him.

“I see you.”

_“Martin!”_

He woke up frightened, chest pounding as he looked for whatever threat had entered the room.  
All he saw was sunlight and tacky curtains. Oh, and Jon. Jon? Jon.

He was peering at Martin with what looked like a mix of annoyance and confusion.   
“...Sorry?” He tried, smiling.  
“For what?”   
“Uh...I don’t know?”  
“Then don’t- Martin. I’m not angry with you, I'm concerned.”

Martin let out a sigh of relief. Jon crossed his arms.

“You were having a nightmare.”  
“We both have nightmares, like, every night.”

“This one was particularly bad.”  
Martin put his head in his hands and sighed again before lying back down as his heart began to calm.

“I don’t even. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what happened.”  
“The uh...circus dream again?” Jon guessed. Martin hesitated before nodding. That was much easier to explain than the rapidly dissolving details of whatever he’d just seen.

Jon nodded and got back into bed, closing his eyes. Martin felt his stomach twist.  
“I...actually no, sorry. It was about you.”

“Oh.” Jon said, insecurity tinging his voice. “Did I...? I don’t think I’ve ever taken a statement from you?” He sat up, arms crossed again.  
“In fact I’ve always taken great pains _not_ to-”

“No! No it’s not that kind of dream. I…” He sighed. That was far too much sighing. It did nothing to alleviate himself of the weird sick feeling he had.  
“You were drowning and I was trying to save you even though everyone was telling me not to.”

“That sounds very...like you.” Martin turned to look at him and was happy to find he was smiling slightly. It was often...well it was kinda hard to tell when Jon was angry or not. Especially when he used to be annoyed at him all the time.

“Well, I can’t really remember anything else? My mom was there...Peter. I-” He ran a hand through his hair.   
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“You can tell me anything Martin.” And Martin’s brain flashed back to dozens and dozens of tapes. Statement Begins and Statement Of and the feeling of Elias’ hotknife Eye pressing unwanted knowing into his brain and Peter telling him about love between the Eye and Lonely in metaphors.

Then Jon’s hand was on his shoulder.   
Then Jon’s lips pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“You also don’t have to tell me anything.” He said, voice soft. Martin nodded then shook his head.  
“I just...I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m s-”

“No need to apologize. I’m…” Jon coughed, brightening his voice.   
“I don’t care about the dreams, I care about you.” Martin smiled.

When Martin had told Jon it was hard to tell whether or not he was angry, Jon had started trying to adjust his tone more. He was bad at it. He had once found Martin crying and paused for a few seconds before chirping out a very happy-sounding “What’s wrong!” which he later (after Martin had stopped laughing) explained he’d meant to sound comforting.

When Martin had been lost in the lonely Jon hadn’t let it blind his eye.  
Hadn’t let anything get in the way of finding him.  
Of seeing him.

"How- I'd like to know how you're doing." Said Jon, without asking.   
“I’m much better now that you’re here?” Martin tried, turning to kiss Jon’s cheek.  
Jon rolled his eyes and booed but the smile that rose afterward was unmistakable. 

“Do you want some tea?” Martin asked, standing and walking towards the kitchen.  
Jon nodded and followed after him.

“Yes, thank you Martin. I’ll prepare the biscuits?”

He loved him.  
He loved him.  
And neither of them were sure if it was right but that was ok for now.  
For now it was warm and sunny and more than enough to live on.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to ask me literally anything about this or any of my fics I know I get really off the rails with scary metaphors when I write TMA.


End file.
